


Fools in a Spiral

by stygianalpha



Series: remember the fires of home [RVB Zombieverse] [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Minor Characters Appear, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 09:17:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2343188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stygianalpha/pseuds/stygianalpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bitters glances at Palomo, and there’s that goddamn grin again. That stupid grin. It’s wider than ever, brighter, like fuckin’ Palomo has absorbed the entire sun and exudes it in silly grins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> written as a companion piece to Jamais Vu. it got a little bit longer than I intentionally intended.
> 
> dedicated to Charlie, since he ships them. and since I'm at fault for him shipping them.

**_i._**  
Their camp is large enough that this shouldn’t keep happening. Bitters should not keep ending up with this idiot beside him when there’s plenty of other people to work with. He glances at the guy out of the corner of his eye, at the way the fool is balancing on his toes, shifting his weight, never standing still. His hair is a mess, clinging to his forehead. He catches Bitters looking and a grin spread over his face. A stupid, lopsided grin. Bitters makes a disgruntled noise and sighs. Great. Caught his attention.

“This’ll be fun,” he says, and it’s obvious he means it. He speaks with a certainty that everything will end up fine. He speaks as if they aren’t living in a world covered with zombies. “Don’t you think so?”

And for some reason, that annoys Bitters to no end. Can’t ignore the zombies when every time they leave the camp the fucking things are there, but goddamn if this asshole acts like they don’t exist. Bitters says, “No. I don’t think it’ll be fun. I think it’s going to fucking suck. Because the last five times, it sucked. It never changes, it’s not fun.”

His name is Palomo, and his grin falls when Bitters speaks. It’s replaced by this quizzical look that comes complete with a head tilt, his eyes boring into Bitters’s skull. He lets a breath out in a way that sounds like he’s laughing and Bitters rolls his eyes. “Man, you’re so cranky today,” Palomo says. “I’m sure this is gonna rock. We’ll be like superheroes.”

Bitters glances over at him and sees that Palomo is grinning again. He looks away quickly, back to where the group they’re with has gathered. They’re going on a hunt, the two of them and four others. The only reason they were brought into this group is because the people in charge want them to get more experience. The argument is that, with Bitters about to turn twenty and Palomo being nineteen, they should be qualified to take care of themselves.

Bitters _can_ take care of himself. He may not have the best aim, but he shoots zombies more often than not. Even if it’s just a bullet to their knees, the bones of the dead shatter easily, and he can reduce them to crawlers and save his life if he has to. But he’s also been charged with Palomo, his so-called partner, and Bitters can’t wait to see how this goes down. The answer, he’s sure, is that it’s going to end terribly.

It starts off well. Palomo follows the main group and Bitters follows him, making sure to keep an eye out for any animals they can eat as well as any walkers. It’s mid summer, and it’s hot, growing hotter the longer they’re out there. It isn’t long before a gunshot goes off and soon, the group has a whole family of rabbits to take back. For a camp as large as theirs, five rabbits isn’t much. They walk through the trees, ducking beneath low-hanging branches, ignoring the heat and searching. It’s an hour in when they spot deer and two of the guys nail one - in the legs. Bitters curses under his breath, watching the thing writhe and hearing it scream.

It’s Palomo that fires the bullet that splits the deer’s skull. Fucking Palomo, the guy who misses more targets in practice than anyone else, and here he is. Taking out a deer. But the damage has been done. The other deer have run off and when Bitters turns back to search the woods, he’s sighing. The heat is making him annoyed and losing deer isn’t helping. It’s a fucking luxury now because no one can seem to catch enough.

But then there’s walkers in the woods and one of them is so obscured by the branches that he doesn’t notice it until its nasty fingers are reaching for Palomo. It’s instinct that drives Bitters then, instinct that has him reaching out and snagging Palomo’s arm, yanking him back out of reach. Then he’s stepping forward and slamming the gun’s stock into the walker’s arms. He hears the bones crack and pulls back just to drive the butt of the gun into the zombies head again, and again, and again. It stops moving and Bitters is breathing heavily, glaring at the thing, cursing it for nearly snatching this stupid noisy kid.

He glances back at the others, sees most of them taking care of other walkers that heard the deer’s cries. He catches Palomo’s stare, the wide eyes that are watching him. He says, quietly, “What…?”

Palomo smiles. It lights up his face and Bitters’s frown deepens automatically. “Thanks,” he says. “I didn’t even see it, hah…”

“Yeah, whatever.” He wishes that Palomo would stop with that stupid fucking look. It’s starting to make him uncomfortable, making him feel like maybe he shouldn’t have gone so overboard on the zombie. “Pay more attention next time.”

It’s only one zombie but Bitters still finds himself keeping a closer eye on Palomo the rest of the time they’re out there.

The group heads back to camp nearly three hours later with the rabbits, some birds, and three deer they managed to catch. Might have been the same group of deer as before, but who the fuck could tell? They make Bitters lug one of the deer; Palomo has the birds in his hands, walking beside Bitters and talking nonstop. It’s annoying and Bitters thinks that if he didn’t have the deer in his hands, he would tackle the fool into the dirt and punch him until he shut up.

At the camp, Bitters is tired and he wants nothing more to retreat back to his bed and go the fuck to sleep. Instead, he and Palomo are ordered to clean the deer. Palomo acts like skinning it will hurt him, shying away from the carcass. Maybe it’s too gross for him or something. Whatever his deal is, it ends up with Bitters pulling the pelt back and Palomo handing him tools. It’s such an involved task that Bitters’s irritation at having to do it is fading as he works.

Palomo, of course, is talking. With that stupidly upbeat voice. He says, “Man, I’m getting so good at this zombie killing stuff,” and Bitters thinks back to the zombie that nearly grabbed him. Of how those fingers had scraped the back of Palomo’s shirt.

Palomo says, “I bet one day I could take on an entire horde!”

Bitters snorts. When he looks up at Palomo, the idiot’s watching him with this goofy grin on his face, one that radiates in the sunlight. It’s an expression that’s somehow managed to look confused and elated at the same time. Bitters says, “Palomo, what the fuck? You could not take on a horde.”

And Palomo’s grin settles into pure happiness. It’s the stupidest grin Bitters has ever seen. “Yeah,” he says sheepishly, bringing a hand up to run through his messy hair. “You’re probably right.”

That night they eat dinner together, and when Palomo sits down next to him the following night, Bitters only moves over to give him enough room.

Palomo is still his training partner which means Bitters gets to watch him improve on a day to day basis. They sit at one of the camp’s outer walls today under the command of the best zombie killers at the camp. Every so often, this zombie killer walks past, making sure they’re still working. Bitters is watching Palomo for now, watching him aim and shoot, watching him kill the zombies that creep out of the woods. He is getting better, hitting the head often now. He acts like each shot is a victory, turning to Bitters with an expectant grin as if Bitters should shower him in praise. Instead, Bitters turns back to shoot at the next few shambling zombies that stumble out of the woods.

There’s this bad habit that Palomo has where he leans in close as if he’s trying to peer through the sights of Bitters’s rifle. Today, Bitters can feel Palomo pressing against his shoulder and has to resist the urge to snap at him about personal fucking space. It’s distracting him, pulling his attention away as he tries to focus, and the bullet he fires slams into the zombies shoulder instead of its head. Palomo makes a noise of disapproval, and Bitters can swear he feels the kid shift even closer.

He fires again and hit its between the eyes. And he doesn’t smirk at that, and that smirk certainly doesn’t morph into a smile when Palomo whispers “Nice shot” next to him.

It’s not even three minutes later before he’s fed up with Palomo. He’s tired of the kid pushing into him, tired of him making those noises whenever Bitters misses. When Palomo says, “Dude. You missed,” in a dry tone, Bitters throws down his gun. He turns, grabbing Palomo by his collar and has enough time to see the look of surprise on his face before he throws the idiot to the ground.

Bitters is on top of him them, hitting Palomo anywhere he can reach, and Palomo is reacting with loud ow’s and grunts that are higher than his regular voice. But then… then Palomo reaches up and slams a fist into Bitters’s jaw and he’s surprised enough for their position to reverse. For Palomo to take him by the shoulders and push him down, and then Palomo is hovering over him, a wicked grin cut across his face. He says, “Used to wrestle with kids at my old camp,” and Bitters is struck by the fact that he had forgotten that they had picked Palomo up. That Palomo hasn’t always been here, following him around.

Whatever his old camp was, whatever happened, it didn’t matter right now. Palomo was fighting back and it had been a long time since Bitters had actually fought anyone. He’s stronger but Palomo’s quicker. The zombie killer that’s training them wanders by a couple of minutes later and Palomo is still on top of him. He’s got one knee jammed into Palomo’s gut, pushing him up, and then there’s a voice snapping at them - “What the hell are you two doing? Pay attention! This is serious, you need to focus!”

Palomo crawls off of Bitters immediately, reaching forward to smooth the wrinkles out of Bitters’s shirt as he sits up. Bitters glances down at the hands on his chest, then up at Palomo, and there’s that goddamn grin again. That stupid grin. It’s wider than ever, brighter, like fuckin’ Palomo has absorbed the entire sun and exudes it in silly grins. His eyes are bright, damn near glittering, and Bitters finds a grin growing on his own face as well.

Like Palomo’s stupid happiness is infectious. They’re laughing together quietly, shoulders shaking, as they’re left alone again.

 ** _ii._**  
The new guy shows up only two days after zombies make their way into the camp. The damn things made their way inside in the middle of the fucking day, and pretty soon they’re everywhere. Biting, feeding, and screaming those horrible guttural screeches. By the time all of them have been killed, the decision to move has been made. So they take everything they can, the group splinters, and everyone leaves. They pile into cars, and Bitters finds himself in the back of a truck driven by people he only knows by name. He watches the other cars pass by from where he sits, spotting a few people he can recognize. He doesn’t see Palomo and as he relaxes back in the bed of the truck, he wonders if the kid got himself bit.

The place they make their new camp is a few hours down the road. The main base is set up in a ruined old gas station There’s not too many of them there and he spots Palomo immediately. Palomo with his persistently messy hair, grinning at him from across the parking lot. Bitters sighs. He doesn’t move. He waits for Palomo to hoist his belongings and jog the distance between them, practically screaming his name as a greeting. Bitters winces. “Will you shut up? What’s the point in that?”

Up close he can see that Palomo’s grin has lost that spark it usually has. He says, “Just glad you’re not dead, that’s all…”

Bitters’s anger crumbles and he sighs. “Yeah.” His gaze lingers on Palomo’s face and in the autumn sunlight, he can see freckles splattered across Palomo’s tanned skin, flaring across his cheeks.

Since there’s only thirteen of them, they can all fit in the gas station for now. It’s stuffy and Bitters hears people coughing while they sleep, rolling over, making noise. Palomo is asleep next to him, snoring softly, and Bitters goes to sleep with a vague sense of annoyance at the noise everyone else is making.

But then.

There’s this guy.

He comes out of nowhere, just shows up one afternoon, standing by an old car and tilting his head while he looks at it. He’s dressed in this full body suit that has to be too warm to be wearing. It’s autumn, but the temperature rises during the day, and this guys’ outfit is entirely black. There’s a few stripes of orange decorating his jacket, tracing out contours on his helmet - other than that: black. There’s a bag and a rifle on his shoulders and a knife strapped to each side of his belt. He greets them with a loud, carrying voice that rolls with confidence. He says, “I don’t know where you guys came from, but I get the feeling something happened here.” He speaks in a way that makes him seem trustworthy, coercing information from them without anyone even thinking it’s a bad a thing.

They tell him about the zombie attack, about how the survivors of the group splintered and left. About how this is likely a temporary home.

He says, “Oh, it has to be a temporary home. You’ll never survive out here - no offense, I mean… I’m sure you could, but this… This is not a good place to stay.”

Someone agrees with him and the sentiment spreads. They aren’t in a good place. The defense aren’t good. There are no walls to protect them.

Bitters sits on an empty concrete slab that once held a gas pump. Palomo is to his right, feet splayed out in front of him. He’s leaning against Bitters again. There’s a girl with them as well - her name is Jensen, he thinks, and she’s watching this guy talk to them with uncertainty all over her face. Bitters can understand that.

The guy, this newcomer, this helmeted man - he talks well. He sounds professional, like someone they can depend on, someone who means every word he says. He says he knows somewhere safe, that he’ll take them, that he’s just waiting for a ride to come pick him up. He says that someone was supposed to meet him here and when that person shows up, that he will convince them to take all thirteen of their group on. “It’s a hell of a ride,” he says. “It’s in Canada, just over the border. But this camp  - and trust me on this - It’s the best camp out there. All of you can live there, I promise you.” He says he’s heading that way himself and he knows it’s a long way away, but it’s safest place to go. He convinces them to let him stay for a while.

He never gives a name.

He never removes his helmet.

It should have been so fucking obvious, but when the gunfire started, no one expected it. It’s in the dead of the night, and Bitters is inside, sleeping underneath a shattered window. He jolts awake with the first scream that shatters the night and what he sees when his eyes snap open is that fucking guy. He watches as this man yanks a girl up by her throat, watches as he spins a blade in his fingers before slamming it into her skull.

And then there’s a rifle in the man’s hands and he’s firing into them with no hesitation. He’s taunting them, asking if they still want to go with him - he stops firing to say, “I said I’d help you! Ohhhh, don’t tell me you’ve all changed your minds? That’s so upsetting.”

Bitters is on his feet before the girl he stabbed hits the ground. He throws his things together, shoves his shoes on as he moves. People rush by him - Jensen rushes by him, side by side with another guy - and Bitters ignores them all. His heart is pounding, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and he knows he should leave now. But he doesn’t. He scans the people left, the diminishing number of people that are moving. There’s screams hanging in the air. And then Bitters spots Palomo shoving his way past a bleeding man and two screaming teenagers.

He snatches Palomo by the arm, yanks him forward, pulls the idiot to him. Then Bitters jumps out the window he was sleeping under, glancing back to make sure that Palomo is following him. When Palomo’s feet hit the ground, Bitters reaches out, grabbing his wrist tightly. They run, and as they pass by the edge of the building, three more men come out of the night. One is tall and wears a helmet that’s similar to the one the asshole inside the station has on. This man aims a shotgun at someone thats running after them. Bitters doesn’t stop to see what happened.

There’s only one car running, one that’s moving, and Bitters watches as it jolts to a halt and the window rolls down. “Get in!” the driver yells at them.

It’s not until Bitters and Palomo are inside and the jeep is moving again that he recognizes the driver. Smith, his name is; Jensen is in the front seat with him. There are tears running down her face and she’s talking fast, too fast for Bitters to bother to listen to. He eases his grip on Palomo’s wrist and then breathes in deeply. There are supplies in the jeep, piled up on one side, pushing the two together in the backseat. Palomo rests one hand on Bitters’s shoulder, twisting around in his seat. His other hand runs slowly up Bitters arm to grip tightly and after a moment, Bitters throws a glance in his direction.

Palomo is looking at the gas station as it disappears into the darkness behind them. His features are warped in the dark, drawn together. He looks tired, upset, worried. He looks like he’s feeling too much at once and when he turns his gaze from what’s behind them, Bitters thinks he’s been looking at Palomo for too long. Palomo only says, “Thanks,” so quietly its almost a whisper.

Bitters doesn’t say anything.

“You saved me,” Palomo adds, turning back to the front. He lets go of Bitters, leaning back against the seat and sighing. Bitters releases a deep breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding.

Smith pulls to a stop a few hours later as the sun is rising. He’s driven them down twisting roads, pushing the jeep as fast as he could get it in the dark. When they stop, the first thing Smith does is set up a fire. There’s food in the jeep he telle them, lots of things that someone had stowed away in there. He says, “I think someone was going to leave.”

Bitters says, “They should have. They would have lived.” The others glance at him. Jensen’s tears have dried and the look she fixes him with is one that speaks volumes, one that says he shouldn’t have spoken at all. He rolls his eyes, turns away from her, focuses on what Smith is cooking over the fire.

Palomo has sidled up next to him, leaning in close. “Hey, Bitters?”

“Back off,” Bitters grumbles.

Palomo leans back an inch or two and says, “Do… do you think anyone else got out?”

There’s a beat where Bitters’s fingers tighten, squeezing into fists. He glances at Palomo, at the way the rising sun is pulling new shades of out his hair, making the freckles stand out on his skin. Making his eyes gleam. Bitters tenses, wanting to get away from this. He wants to tell Palomo that there’s no fucking way anyone else got out. That they’re lucky to be alive. What comes out is, “Shut the fuck up, Palomo.” There’s more anger and hatred in it than Bitters intended.

The look on Palomo’s face transforms instantly, frowning. All the brightness snaps out of his eyes. He gets up. Leaves. Settles down next to Jensen and repeats the same question. When Jensen answers, some of the life seems to come back into Palomo’s face. Bitters glares at them, then at the dirt beneath his feet, ignoring the coals of a slow burning fire in his gut. The dull flames of the anger that threatens to swarm through him. He’s not sure what he’s mad at.

God, he wants to sleep.

 ** _iii._**  
It’s only been a few days since then. Autumn is becoming more pronounced, leaves falling from the trees. The four of them have already laid claim to everything that’s in the jeep. All the food and water, the guns, the ammunition. All of it is theirs now. The problem lies in the fact that while Jensen and Smith get the front seat all the time, Bitters and Palomo are in the back with all the supplies. It’s a tight fit and it annoys Bitters to constantly be squeezed back there. He can understand Smith being up front. Smith is their usual driver. And, sure, he’s teaching Jensen to drive better, working all the weird issues out of her driving, but he only lets her behind the wheel when they’ve got long stretches of road in front of them. Bitters is sure they can switch. He’s positive that Jensen can sit in the back sometimes and that he can take the front seat.

He just wants to get away from Palomo, because Palomo has developed a new habit. He likes to drape his legs over their rolled up tents. Usually, he sits with his back against the door across from Bitters, which means the tents are between them and that Palomo can nudge Bitters with his feet at any time. Bitters thinks that Palomo does this when he’s bored or when he wants Bitters to pay attention to him.

It’s the worst fucking thing he has ever found to do and Bitters wants to break his ankles for it.

He throws Palomo a glare that’s met with one of those grins. There are variations to his grin; Bitters knows that now. Little things that show the difference between them, like the way the edges of his eyes crinkle when he’s about to laugh or the way his whole face seems to relax when he’s actually happy. There’s a glint to his features now, a slant to the way his brows are drawn together, and Bitters raises one hand to shove Palomo’s feet away.

Fuck Palomo and his stupid sly grin. He thinks this shit is hilarious.

When they stop for lunch, Bitters pushes Palomo into the dirt and yells at him to stop fuckin’ kicking him. It’s  a pain in the ass, he says, but it’s not getting through to this moron. Palomo’s laughing and when Bitters finally stops, he’s leaning over Palomo, clutching at his sides, glaring. He watches as Palomo’s features soften and that grin fades into a smile. Bitters stares at him for a second longer, and then he leaves Palomo in the dirt.  His stomach is twisting in ways he doesn’t care for, churning and seizing and it’s becoming a bit of a problem - Palomo grins, he smiles, and Bitters tenses up every time.

They climb into the jeep after eating, and Palomo switches his dumb routine to the other alternative. He kicks the tents back against the other door, plopping down and resting against Bitters instead. This seating arrangement is unfair, Bitters is positive about that. Smith has given the wheel to Jensen and Bitters fingers clench the seat beneath him.

Palomo’s talking quietly, about where they’re headed and what they’re going to do. He talks about how boring it is that all they do is drive, and how he wants to do something. Palomo talks a lot and Bitters isn’t really paying attention. He’s tired and suddenly a nap sounds great. The weight of Palomo on his arm is starting to bug him but he doesn’t know what to do with himself; every time the moron leans against him, Bitters doesn’t do much beyond freezing and trying not to think about it. It’s surprisingly difficult and every word he says to Palomo is short, tense.

He thinks that Palomo doesn’t even notice.

Bitters falls asleep without even noticing, and when he wakes up, he’s moved around quite a bit in the small space. His feet are propped on the console that rests between the two front seats. He’s twisted around so that he rests with part of his back leaning on the door, on the window. Palomo is still leaning against him, not talking, and Bitters realizes that he’s wound his arm around Palomo, that his hand is resting against Palomo’s waist. It chills him at the same time nerves explode in his gut, spreading to wake him up entirely. He stays where he is, trying to calm himself down, because this is _stupid_. This is beyond stupid, this is… this is absolutely fucking _ridiculous._

Palomo shifts and Bitters can feel the fabric of the his shirt as it moves over his stomach.

More nerves flutter in his gut and Bitters yanks his arm back, straightening again, staring ahead. His arm is warm where Palomo had been moments before. Bitters catches a glimpse of Smith glancing back from the passenger seat and ignores him to look back to Palomo. Fucker’s grinning again, features lit up like Bitters is the greatest fucking thing he’s seen all day. He watches as Palomo throws his legs into the floor of the jeep, watches him sit in the fucking seat like he’s supposed to.

Palomo says, “Man, you were asleep for a while.” He even sounds like Bitters is the greatest thing in the fucking world and Bitters can feel the heat threatening to rise over his face. He looks away, out the window, tries to ignore Palomo. “Jensen and Smith are boring. They’re so wrapped up in each other, it’s weird.”

From the seat in front of Bitters, Jensen makes a noise that sounds like she can’t believe what he’s saying. She says, “I’m learning to drive, Palomo.”

Palomo ignores her to grab the sleeve of Bitters’s jacket and tug on it. “C’mon, man, talk to me! I’m dying of boredom here.”

Bitters looks back at him, at the freckles over his cheeks, and thinks that he needs to get the fuck away from Palomo because he is losing his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> contains information taken from chapters 2 & 6 of Jamais Vu

**_iv._**  
They’ve only got three tents and that is their biggest problem. There are three tents and four of them. Jensen gets her own tent and none of them are going to argue with giving the only girl privacy. But then Smith takes one for himself, for no good reason, and that leaves Bitters having to share with Palomo. There’s enough room for them to lie there comfortably, but the longer they sleep in it, the less comfortable it gets. Bitters thinks that Palomo is too goddamn close, that he can’t get a moment to himself, and that if he has to spend all his days and nights like this that he might just die. His chest seizes half the time he looks at Palomo now, and every time Palomo grins it feels like his heart is actually going to take flight. Bitters hates it because it’s stupid, because it’s fucking _Palomo_ for fuck’s sake.

Doesn’t matter. He sits there in the dark before either of them fall asleep and he listens to Palomo talk. He’s not sure when he started actively paying attention to every stupid thing that comes out of Palomo’s mouth but half of it is ridiculous and Bitters is always snapping at the idiot to shut up and go the fuck to sleep. All of it is ignored, of course, because Palomo is always in such a good goddamn mood.

He speaks, and Bitters listens even if he wasn’t planning on it. Because Palomo speaks as if everything is important, like every stupid little thing matters as much as all the others. He speaks in a way that instantly draws Bitters in. He speaks with such excitement that half the time Bitters lays there in the dark and laughs with him. It’s too hard to actually be mad at Palomo when he sounds so fucking cheerful. It’s like nothing bothers him and all that optimism bleeds into his words.

But once Palomo falls asleep, once he’s lying there and sleeping soundly, Bitters lies awake and thinks that the tent is too small. That he wants space, that he needs it because being near Palomo is starting to feel like he’s drowning. Except that’s not right at all because drowning is fucking terrible and Bitters isn’t so sure if this idiot deserves that type of association.

It’s still pretty accurate. The best he’s come up with so far.

Bitters is fucking drowning and no matter how many times he wrestles in the dirt with Palomo and shoves him around and yells at him - doesn’t help. He still thinks about Palomo, still sits there and watches as the grin lights up his face. He lies in the dark and he feels it in his chest and he sighs, runs a hand over his face, struggles to fall asleep.

One day he wakes and knows instantly that something’s not right. It’s too warm, fucking suffocating. It comes to him slowly. That the extra heat is Palomo. That Palomo has an arm draped over Bitters’s waist, that his head is resting on Bitters’s shoulder. It takes only three seconds for Bitters to take a deep breath and practically shout: _“Palomo! What the fuck!?”_

Palomo wakes instantly, sitting up and staring at Bitters with tired surprise. He says “What?” and then Bitters is scowling and yelling at him, shoving him out of the tent.

Bitters yells at him for being so close, for sleeping like he was, because Bitters’s heart is beating too fast. Its easier to shove Palomo in the dirt outside and hit him than it is to think about anything, easier to ignore that he’s first impulse hadn’t been to shove Palomo away but to bring him closer. Bitters watches the confusion that just grows over Palomo’s face and hears him say something among all the loud ‘ow’s.

Palomo says, “I can’t help what happens when I’m asleep! C’mon, Bitters!”

And then Jensen is poking her head out of her out tent, staring at them, bleary-eyed. She says, “What the hell are you two doing?”

Instead of answering, Bitters shoves Palomo on his back in the dirt, hands gripping him by the shoulders. He’s kneeling over Palomo’s waist, hovering over him, knees in the dirt. He glares at the idiot beneath him, ignoring the twist in his stomach as Palomo’s gaze meets his own.

Jensen sighs and he hears her say, “Oh for God’s sake - do that in your tent and shut up.”

It’s a _joke_ , Bitters _knows_ that, and it still makes him freeze. He looks over at her tent as it closes again, stares at it, and loosens his grip on Palomo. He thinks about how he’s pinning Palomo, how he’s hovering over him, and suddenly everywhere they’re touching feels like it’s burning. The hands on his arms are too warm, the way Palomo’s got one leg pressing against the inside of his thigh is like fire. Bitters curses under his breath and starts to move, but then Palomo flips them over and slams Bitters into the ground instead. He grunts, frowning, and then stares up at Palomo. His breath catches in his throat and his fingers clutch weakly at the dirt beneath him.

Palomo is grinning again, confusion still tinting his eyes. He’s sitting at Bitters’s waist - actually fucking sitting there, like there’s no problem in it. Like Bitters isn’t tensing beneath him. His hands are on Bitters’s shoulders, pushing him into the ground. Bitters squirms against the grip, feels the ground scratching against him. He feels Palomo’s hips shifting where he sits. Palomo, moving easily on top of him with every movement he makes.

Bitters stills again. There’s a warmth spreading through him and he swallows hard. Palomo’s hands are loosening up, laying flat against him, and it’s like little jolts of electricity every time he moves. Palomo’s grin fades into a self-satisfied smile and he says, “I win,” and Bitters feels heat rising up his neck. He throws out one arm, shoves Palomo violently off of him. When he sprawls in the dirt again, Palomo says, “Ow - ! Bitters!”

“Can you just - Fuckin’ leave me alone,” Bitters growls. He’s crawling back into the tent because he needs to get away and it’s stupid ‘cause this idiot can just follow him back in there.

From outside, he hears Palomo say, “But… you started it, though.”

Just by his voice, Bitters can tell he’s frowning and he groans, collapsing into the blankets that lie in their tent and not moving.

 ** _v._**  
It’s the same day when Palomo disappears. It’s late, the sun is setting, and Bitters is walking through the woods they’ve camped in. He can’t pinpoint when Palomo left because he had fallen asleep again and slept for too long, but none of that matters.

Palomo is missing, and neither Jensen nor Smith can give him a good explanation of what happened.

He looks until the sun has set, until Smith has to come find him and pull him back to camp. There’s food over the fire, and Bitters stares at it like he can’t believe this is just going to happen. That these two are pretending it’s just another day. He sinks onto the ground across  from Jensen and glares at her, at Smith, at the fire. When no speaks, it annoys him. He thinks of how they haven’t moved much from camp, about how he was the one that left to look, and the annoyance flares into anger. “You’re not even going to look for him, are you?” he says.

Jensen frowns at him. “It’s dark,” she says. “We can’t find him in the dark.”

“He might come back on his own,” Smith suggests.

To Bitters, it sounds like Palomo was just compared to a dog and his anger builds. It doesn’t make sense for him to be so fucking mad at Smith - he knows what Smith means, that Palomo could wander back in the middle of the night or the early morning - but it pisses him off and he snaps at both of them. Bitters retreats to his tent without eating. He lays there, glaring at the tent wall and cursing Palomo for wandering off in the first place.

In the morning, Smith is packing things up and Bitters is mad at him all over again. He asks, “What the _fuck_ are you doing?”

Smith looks at him while he’s dismantling Jensen’s tent. “We have to leave,” he said. “We can look for Palomo on the road.”

Bitters thinks that he wants nothing more than to hurt Smith then. Because they can’t leave. He thinks about Palomo and gets this startling mental image of the idiot as a shambling corpse and then he’s yelling about how they can’t just go. “We have to find him!” he says. “He could be hurt, or - “ He doesn’t want to say it but the way Smith’s face sets in a hard line means the guy understands anyway. “We can’t just leave,” Bitters says.

Jensen says, “Are you really that worried about him?”

He turns his glare from Smith to her, to where she’s standing by the fire and holding a pack in her hands. He is not worried about Palomo, not one fucking bit, and he tells her so but he doesn’t think she believes him. She doesn’t press the issue though, just sighs, and they end up leaving after lunch despite Bitters’s protests. He sits in the back of the jeep and tries not to look too bothered or angry. He tries not to look like he feels, because he feels like a weight has dropped into him and is spreading little seeds of anxiety throughout his body. Jensen twists around once to ask him something and Bitters ignores her in favor of laying down and rolling onto his side and pretending to go to sleep.

When they stop again, Bitters doesn’t say much to the two of them. He puts his tent up, gathers wood for a fire, and spends too much time sleeping. But if he’s asleep, he can ignore the way his thoughts keep turning back to Palomo and how no one fucking told the idiot to go off on his own. It’s like an unspoken rule that they leave in pairs and even if Bitters was annoyed with him that day, Palomo should have taken Smith or Jensen with him.

Every time Jensen or Smith mentions Palomo, a tight ball of worry clenches in his gut. Every fucking time. Bitters thinks that he’s going to beat the living shit out of Palomo when they find him again because this is driving him insane.

But then they find him again by chance and Bitters is too relieved to glare at him, to hit him, to do much of anything. He watches Palomo grin in the setting sun and is thankful that at least from this distance, he can’t see the way the sunlight always catches in Palomo’s eyes.

He takes the bike. He takes it to keep Palomo from injuring himself on it, ‘cause that’s inevitable, but he also takes it so he doesn’t have to worry. If Palomo’s in the jeep, he’ll be fine. The fact that driving a flashy sports bike out in front of the jeep actually gives him freedom to relax isn’t something he anticipated. But it’s good. The bike moves fast and handles well, and when they stop to make camp, he’s less wound up about being around Palomo and those stupid grins.

 _ **vi.**_  
They still share a tent and it’s still annoying. After his absence, it’s like Palomo’s noise is more obnoxious and Bitters just wants him to shut the fuck up. Palomo talks at night, snores more often than not, and wakes up with soft noises of displeasure as the sun hits his eyes. He’s talking soon after he wakes today, just laying there and asking Bitters what they have for breakfast.

Bitters responds by reaching over and winding his fingers through Palomo’s hair. He’s tired, isn’t thinking, and only realizes what he’s doing when he meets Palomo’s eyes. They’re both lying there, drifting through the early morning haze, and Palomo is looking at him for answers. Not even caring that Bitters has just woven a hand into his hair.

Palomo says, “Do you guys have meat? Can I eat meat for breakfast or is Smith gonna have a fit about it?”

He scans Palomo’s face, lingering on his eyes, his freckles - and then Bitters yanks sharply. The single most undignified noise he has ever heard shoots out of Palomo’s mouth when he does. He’s grinning lazily when Palomo swats his hand away, laughing before too long because that sounded like a fucking yelp. Palomo’s frowning at him but it’s just so perfect that Bitters doesn’t care.

He keeps doing it, keeps taking hold of Palomo’s hair and pulling on it. It’s something he does at night and in the early mornings. When Jensen and Smith have gone hunting and they’re at camp alone. His fingers brush against Palomo every time, tracing light paths down the side of his face. Those stupid noises are great, little yelps and squeals and it’s so stupidly _perfect._

Palomo slaps his hand away, saying, “Knock it off!”

Bitters ignores him because he doesn’t sound all that annoyed about it, and then Palomo has jumped him and they wrestle in the early morning sun. Bitters pins him down into the blankets and grins at him. “You fucking squeak,” he says. “Did you know that?”

Palomo kicks him off.

There’s one time where Palomo pins Bitters and his stupid grin is so superior that it’s almost annoying. Almost. The sun is piercing through the tent again and lighting up Palomo’s face and it’s like his eyes are gleaming. There’s victory dancing in that look. Bitters lets him win after that, especially when the sun is up.

 _ **vii.**_  
In this broken down house, there’s this sense that the four of them have to be quiet. Like if they make too much noise, they’ll just irritate all these armed and dangerous people. All of them are named after states and Bitters doesn’t trust a single one of them. He watches as Jensen starts to adore the one called North, listens when she comes back and tells them about what she talked about with Carolina - that’s the one that’s the leader, Bitters thinks. This Carolina, who looks as if she could kill them all without even breaking a sweat.

He’s barely awake the day that the other woman squats down beside their tents. South, the one with the brutal eyes and the smile that does nothing but make her eyes flash dangerously. South says, “Any of you punks wanna go zombie huntin’ with experts?”

Bitters can see the interest in Palomo’s eyes, knows even before the idiot says anything that he’s going to volunteer. So he does as well, if only to make sure that Palomo is actually safe out there. The idea of Palomo following these people around twists nerves in his gut because Palomo is annoying on most days and these people do not seem like the sort to put up with it for long.

He’s immensely relieved with South’s brother stops her from actually taking them with her.

Palomo says, “I was looking forward to that.” He’s watching the twins walk back down the hallway, sighing and he actually looks like he’s going to pout. Instead, he falls on his back and folds his hands over his stomach.

Bitters doesn’t answer. He looks at Palomo out of the corner of his eye, watches as Palomo folds his hands together and taps the finger of one hand on the back of the other. He thinks that it’d be easy to reach over and pull at one of Palomo’s hands, lace their fingers together. Just one quick motion.

Bitters leaves the room to go outside and sit on the front steps. It’s getting colder and the chill in the air is something he thinks he needs because he seriously just fucking thought about holding Palomo’s hand. And it’s so simple, such a little thing, and here he is reacting like a goddamn thirteen year old virgin.

It’s pathetic, and dumb, and he’s only out there for about a minute before he wonders why he even left in the first place. He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his head in his hand. He sits there and he wonders what Palomo would even do if Bitters took his hand. Probably nothing. Because Palomo is a naive idiot and nothing ever seems to faze him.

That night, Bitters sits up long past the others have gone to sleep. He’s at the tent’s entrance because Palomo is curled up in the back of it with literally every one of their blankets draped over him. It’s like he burrowed himself in there for warmth, but he’s not even fully covered. Palomo is laying on his stomach, blankets pulled up around the middle of his back. His sleeping in his jacket for extra comfort, extra warmth.

Bitters thinks that he’s going to have to take some of those blankets when he finally goes to sleep. He thinks that it’d be easier to just crawl underneath all of them and sleep alongside Palomo, but he’s not going to. If he can’t even handle the thought of holding Palomo’s hand, there’s no fucking way he’ll share those blankets.

He doesn’t go to sleep until much later because for a while he can hear the voices of those ‘zombie killing experts’. They talk about someone called the Director. They mention Washington and Florida, and someone curses loudly at the one called Maine. Something breaks with a crash - and Palomo stirs just slightly at that, eyes fluttered open, before he rolls over onto his back and falls back asleep quickly.

He hears one of them say, “What are you gonna do if these kids die? You can’t fuckin’ save everyone,” and he thinks that it’s South. He doesn’t want to hear whatever they have to say next so he zips the rest of the tent closed, tries to block off their voices, and crawls over to snatch blankets from Palomo. He falls asleep with his eyes trained on Palomo, watching his chest rise and fall.

The next morning, he remembers watching Palomo sleep and wants to punch himself in the face and then punch Palomo for good measure. Instead, he just reaches over during breakfast, curls a lock of Palomo’s hair in his fingers and pulls. Palomo pretty much squeals around the food in his mouth and shrugs Bitters off of him. Bitters smiles at the reaction until he catches Jensen grinning at him.

He raises his hand to flip her off, wiping the smile off of his face and wishing to all holy deities that she did not catch him purposefully run his thumb down Palomo’s cheek just then.


	3. Chapter 3

**_viii._**  
When it snows, Palomo doesn’t seem to feel the biting cold. He loves the snow, grabbing handfuls with ungloved fingers to launch snowballs at Bitters. He stomps through the snow like he’s a child, throws himself into snow banks that build up. He grins a lot, that stupidly happy grin that softens all his features. He laughs a lot too, wild noisy laughs that shake his shoulders. Most of the time, he’s laughing because he pelted someone in the face with a snowball. And, most of the time, it’s Bitters that gets hit.

Today, they’re supposed to be gathering wood. Palomo has left his side and is currently standing in a snow drift that covers his ankles. He’s making another goddamn snowball, smiling while he does it. Bitters stops and just watches. He watches as Palomo darts his tongue out to lick his lips, the way his eyes narrow in concentration.

Bitters calls out to him. “Palomo? You wanna stop playing in the damn snow and actually help?”

Palomo looks up and his smile widens. The answer he gives is tossing the snowball right at Bitters. He ducks, and it flies over his head, but then another one slams into his chest and he realizes that Palomo has a fucking arsenal of snowballs. That Palomo has actually wasted enough time to make an arsenal of snowballs and pile them around his feet - and then one of them hits Bitters in the face.

He blinks, drops all the wood he had bothered to pick up, and starts forward. Palomo grins as he advances, turning to run, and Bitters roars, “You fuckin’ asked for this, you shit!” He tackles Palomo at the knees, sending both of them crashing into the snow.

Palomo is laughing, repeating ‘no’ over and over. He says, “Get off!”

Bitters shoves his face into the snow for a second and when he lets go, Palomo twists beneath him, rolling until he’s on his back. There’s snow on his face, caught in his eyelashes, clinging to his hair and Bitters is struck by the need to brush the snow off of Palomo’s cheeks. But then Palomo snatches him at the shoulders and throws him off.

It’s not like all the other stupid wrestling matches they do. Neither of them bother to try and hit the other, no one gets pinned down, and no one tries to declare themselves a winner. It’s like Palomo’s stupid need to play in the snow has passed onto BItters and all they do is roll in the stuff. Palomo shoves a handful of snow in Bitters face, and he reaches up to grab a low hanging tree branch overhead and dump the snow caught on it onto Palomo. They’re both laughing as it falls, even when Palomo yanks Bitters forward so he gets covered too.

He sits on his knees in the snow, one leg between Palomo’s, one hand at Palomo’s waist. He looks at how the cold weather has brought redness to Palomo’s face, to his cheeks and his nose, and how the freckles are standing out against the red. Palomo and his goddamn freckles. His laughter fades away as he watches Palomo shaking the snow out of his hair. He makes a face, one that scrunches up his nose. He still looks happy, just ridiculous. He looks up, right into Bitter’s eyes, and Bitters can feel the way nerves tighten and flutter in his stomach. Because Palomo is fucking _adorable._

“You’ve got snow in your hair,” Palomo says.

“So do you.” He lets go of the branch he’s been hanging onto. Leans forward to ruffle Palomo’s hair until some of the snow falls out. He thinks that it’d be easy to just lean forward, to close the gap between them, and press his lips to Palomo’s. He pulls back from Palomo then, lets go of him, and hopes that the heat flushing across his face is going to look like the cold weather put it there.

Bitters thinks that he wants to kiss Palomo, and all Palomo does is sit there and try to get the snow out of his hair. He wonders what it would feel like, what Palomo would taste like, and licks his lips at the thought. Palomo doesn’t even notice.

Then Jensen is there and it feels like she came out of nowhere because Bitters hasn’t looked away from Palomo in quite a while. Jensen looks at them, at Bitters, and then she looks like she’s holding back a smirk. She says, “What are you guys doing? You’re supposed to be getting wood for a fire.”

Palomo offers a grin in answer. It doesn’t light up his face like it did earlier and Bitters looks away when he stands. He brushes snow off his jacket, off his pants. He says, “Lighten up, Jensen. It snowed.”

She sighs and rolls her eyes, and Bitters gives Palomo a hand to pull him to his feet. There’s still snow in Palomo’s hair. He wanders off again, back the way they came, and Bitters watches him lean down to pick up the branches that he had dropped earlier. When he looks back at Jensen, she’s fucking beaming at him. He frowns. “What…?”

“You two,” she says quietly. “are adorable.”

Bitters’s scowls. “Shut up.”

“So cute.”

“Jensen.”

She leans forward, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “So have you kissed him yet? Or have you not worked up the nerve?”

“I am going to throw you in the next river we see.”

She tilts her head. “All the rivers are iced over.”

“Yeah, that’s the fuckin’ point.”

She’s still smiling when she shakes her head at him, still looking pleased with herself. Later than night, she catches him before he goes back to his tent and leans in to whisper, “You should at least tell him.”

Bitters shoves her away so hard she trips over her feet and goes sprawling into the snow. He only feels a little bad about it when she glares up at him. Jensen should mind her own business, he thinks. And besides, what the hell would he have to tell Palomo anyway?

The next day, Palomo starts a snowball fight in the center of camp. It’s lighthearted and foolish, and then Smith gets too into it and starts launching the biggest snowballs he can make. He dubs himself king of the camp and its bizarre but hilarious. Bitters seeks refuge from the snow flying through the air by ducking behind the jeep. It’s not long before Palomo follows him, pressing against him in the cold. An effort to hide more of himself from Smith, probably.  

There’s snow hanging in Palomo’s hair again and as he settles down in the snow, Bitters raises a hand and brushes some of it lightly off of his face. Palomo looks at him and smiles. The fact that Bitters is touching his face doesn’t seem to bother him. Palomo says, “I think Smith has lost it.”

Bitters smiles back at him, forcing himself to pull his hand back. “I don’t know if he’s ever been fully there,” he says, and Palomo starts laughing. Bitters licks his lips, bites at his bottom lip, and finds himself wanting to press Palomo into the side of the jeep. He wants to kiss this stupid, noisy, naive idiot until he can’t breathe anymore. He wants to run his hands through Palomo’s stupid messy hair and down his chest and his sides.

But he doesn’t. He sits there and traces his eyes over Palomo’s face, his freckles, the expanse of his neck that shows over the collar of his coat. He focuses on Palomo’s lips, on that bright grin, and thinks again that he could do it. It wouldn’t take much effort because Palomo is still pressing against his side. Instead, he wonders when exactly this even started, when he looked at that stupid fucking grin and thought it was cute, when the hell did he even notice the way Palomo’s eyes caught the sunshine and shone.

Bitters doesn’t do anything but sit and watch Palomo. If it were anyone else he was staring at so openly, he’d wonder how the fuck they never thought it was weird. But this is Palomo and when he turns his gaze back to Bitters, the initial surprise at being stared at vanishes in an instant.

Palomo’s grin fades into a smile and he says, “You, uh… you got somethin’ to say or what?”

Bitters lifts a handful of snow and shoves it in Palomo’s face with a smirk. He shoves Palomo on his back in the snow, laughing as Palomo presses against his shoulders. He’s leaning down before he realizes it, fighting against Palomo’s hands because the need to kiss him is just too fucking hard to ignore. And then a shadow falls over them and he glances up to see Smith standing at the edge of the jeep.

Smith, holding the largest snowball that Bitters has ever seen in both hands. Smith, who is looking at Bitters pressing Palomo into the snow with surprise etched onto his face.

Bitters curses.

Palomo says, “Ohhh no.”

And then an evil grin snaps across Smith’s face and he tosses that giant snowball at them, laughing. Bitters hunches down over Palomo as it hits, showering them both. Palomo is quiet for about three seconds, but then he’s laughing again, hands clutching at Bitters jacket.

Bitters doesn’t think about kissing Palomo.

He just wants to kick Smith’s ass for choosing that moment to show up.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in an effort to be nice for once, i'm just going to end it here. :)

_**ix.**_  
Its not even two days later when Bitters finds himself standing beside Palomo, staring at Palomo. It’s snowing lightly and Palomo’s pulled his gloves off to watch the snowflakes melt on his skin. They land on his face too, dotting his forehead and his cheeks when he turns his face up to the sky. There’s a slight redness dusting across his face, brought out by the cold. Palomo is smiling softly and Bitters tries to memorize the way it sits on his face.

Palomo glances at him, eyes bright. He tilts his head toward Bitters. “Hey, Bitters?” he says quietly.

“Yeah?”

“What are we doing out here exactly?”

It’s dusk, and they’re out here because Jensen was trying to force Bitters to talk about how he feels. Bitters doesn’t know how he feels and the idea of talking about it with anyone is enough to make alarms go off in his head, so he dragged Palomo out here instead. He doesn’t say any of that. He says, “Wanted to get away.”

“Oh.” Palomo catches another snowflake on the palm of his hand and watches it dissolve into nothing. “So why am I here?”

Bitters looks at the snow thats glittering in Palomo’s hair, at his goddamn freckles, at the way his eyes are gleaming even as night falls. He doesn’t have an answer for that because there is no point for Palomo to be here. There’s nothing he can say. He’s not even sure he could speak right now. All he can think is that Palomo is cute, standing there and watching the snow fall like it’s magical.

Palomo turns his head, looking at Bitters - looking into his eyes - and Bitters’s chest clenches in a way he thought had stopped happening. Makes it a little difficult to breathe. Palomo says, “Is there a reason I’m here? Or did you just want company?” There’s laughter dancing in his eyes.

Bitters is reaching for him then, pulling at the front of his jacket and tugging him close. Palomo’s eyes widen as his pulled forward, and Bitters thinks that if he’s going to do this then it has to be right. He’s not going to have some bullshit fumbling around - not a fucking chance. There’s only one chance at this kind of thing, and even if its Palomo, he’s not gonna fuck it up.

He kisses Palomo softly, and gets the quietest noise of surprise in response. His eyes drift closed as he does but he gets to see those widening eyes for a second. Palomo’s shoulders are tense under his hands and his heart pounds in his chest, against his ribs, and Bitters feels like he’s going to crumble if this goes wrong. He moves his lips slowly, and when Palomo actually responds to it, this embarrassing noise eases out of Bitters. Some pathetic, low, keening noise - but he’s too busy smiling against Palomo’s lips to care, sliding his hands up to hold onto Palomo’s jaw.

Palomo’s lips are soft and warm despite the cold and when Bitters pulls back, he doesn’t exactly want to let the idiot go. Palomo has wound his hands into the bottom of Bitters’s jacket. Neither of them moves for a bit, Palomo’s wide eyes staring up at him while Bitters runs his thumb along Palomo’s face and collects melting snowflakes.

It takes a bit for it to actually hit him.

That he just kissed Palomo. In the goddamn snow. Like a fucking teenage love story.

There’s this bizarre notion screaming in his head that he’s fucked something up and another that yells back that Palomo kissed him back. That there isn’t a problem here. Bitters still lets go of Palomo and takes a step back quickly. He runs his tongue across his lips and finds the residual taste of bittersweet instant coffee left there by Palomo. He mutters, “...Fuck.”

Palomo breathes out, “Ohhh man,” at the same time.

Bitters says, “I, uh… didn’t mean to… y’know…” and curses at himself mentally because _are you fucking kidding me._

Palomo’s expression hasn’t changed from that wide-eyed surprise, but Bitters can see the tint of happiness in his eyes and feels like his heart is going to break out of his chest. He says, “Man, so much makes sense now.”

Bitters shoves him backward and Palomo laughs, quiet laughter that rings in Bitters’s ears. “Palomo,” he says. “Shut the fuck up.”

A smile is blossoming over Palomo’s face and he says, “What? Why?”

“Palomo.”

He nearly whispers, “You kissed me,” like it’s some kind of jest.

“Goddammit, Palomo.” Bitters pushes him hard, watching him lose his footing - and then Palomo snags his jacket and pulls him down with him. “Why do you have make things weird?” Bitters says quietly.

Palomo only grins at him.

Before Bitters can kiss him again to wipe that stupid look off his face, Jensen finds them. She looks between them but says nothing other than, “Dinner’s ready. Are you two going to fight again?”

Palomo giggles and Bitters rolls his eyes. He stands, following Jensen back to the campsite. He can hear Palomo’s footsteps hurrying after them, and when he looks at Palomo in the firelight, the flickering flames are making his eyes dance again. Bitters thinks that nothing is going to be different, even if he has to force it to stay the same. Nothing’s going to change between them because he doesn’t want it to change. He just wants to add kissing Palomo into the mix and keep the rest of the same. It shouldn’t be too hard.


End file.
